


Brother

by StarsOverTheEast



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, not as dark - dark lords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-20 23:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14271483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsOverTheEast/pseuds/StarsOverTheEast
Summary: Eönwë watches as the ring falls and Sauron's soul is shattered.And remembers him as Mairon, his once dear friend.





	Brother

He wishes it didn’t have to end this way.

The ash is thick about him as he walks towards the black tower. He’s sure he would stand out, if any mortal eye could see him. A tall figure of silver and blue, shining like a beacon in this barren land. A cape of grey feathers, that just a moment ago were grand wings bearing him across the land at a desperate speed, long and trailing behind him as he makes his way towards the tower.

Sauron.

His final minutes.

What must he be thinking?

_ Mairon. _

_ That’s the name of this one, this bright flame of a spirit who glows red and yellow and orange. So different from his own brothers and sisters who are singing of the sky and the cloud, and breath in lungs that they don’t understand. _

_ Mairon, this ainu who lifts his voice as loud an any of them and sings a theme Eönwë cannot comprehend. He listens from his spot beside his lord, listens as Mairon sings of fire and the working of metal and brilliant gems and a shining crown.  _

_ Can they sing together he wonders? _

_ Eönwë draws near, reaches for this bright spark and delights when Mairon reaches back and they join and sing as one.  _

_ A song of eagles at flight and the ringing of metal. _

His song had been beautiful then. A mighty praise to The One, a celebration of fire and craft and Arda had been richer for it. 

Eönwë pauses, rests his hand upon his sword’s hilt. 

Before him lie the armies of men, the proud and brave second born who fight this battle alone.

He is only here to bear witness, to record, to give help when this theme of the great music plays to completion. 

The Valar have withdrawn their power, their strength. The children must stand on their own. 

Manwë’s order.

And perhaps, perhaps his own wish.

_ “A gift,” Mairon says as he unfolds the cloth, “for the greatest of our swordsmen.” _

_ It is too fine, Eönwë thinks as he reaches for it, too fine for swordplay. A sword of silver, with a touch of blue sky. A star in the many jewels of Mairon’s work.  _

_ “How shall I repay you?” _

_ Mairon laughs, shakes his head.  _

_ “There is no need, my friend.” _

They had cast his work away after he had left. Thrown down the fine jewels and crowns and swords. No place for the work of one with blood on his hands. No love for creations of one fallen into sin. 

But Eönwë had kept the sword. Grips it now as the mountain rumbled and the heroes moved closer. 

Can he sense his danger? 

The precious ring being carried into the heart of his kingdom, towards the place of its birth and the moment of his death. 

Certainly he had not sensed it before. 

_ “Are they your own?” _

_ “They are.” _

_ Eönwë takes one of the creations in his hand, turns it over, shakes his head. _

_ “Aule will be displeased. He wishes for –“ _

_ “Aule may do as he wishes.” _

_ Eönwë frowns, set the small trinket down and searches his friend’s face for understanding. To speak so of his Vala, it is worrying.  _

_ Mairon narrows his eyes, steps in front of his table. _

_ “Am I not allowed to give shape to my own desires? Am I to be but one hammer in a sea of red forever?” _

_ “You are more than a hammer.” _

_ “Than why am I not allowed to create that which I might? Why do I only craft what pleases those who would use me?” _

_ Eönwë shakes his head, grabs Mairon by the shoulder. _

_ “You are changed, brother, I do not understand” _

_ “No,” Mairon answers. “You would not.” _

The sound of the battle grows dim now as he passes into the nameless land, gazes towards his beloved sky that is hidden behind dark clouds. 

He had not seen it then. Had not understood the trouble, the danger. 

The fall into Morgoth’s shadow. The twisting of his friend’s desire and the lies that had been spoken into his ear. 

The maia that had been Mairon, made cruel and terrible and a weapon for the fallen vala’s own purposes. 

A great loss for them, a great gain for Morgoth.

_ “Do you overlook his sins?” _

_ Eönwë’s voice is desperate as he screams, as he cries, as he begs.  _

_ He cannot bring himself to raise his hand to Mairon. Not yet, not yet. Not while - _

_ “His sins,” replies Mairon, “his sins? You should give praise to my Lord, for all that he has destroyed you have rebuilt and for the better. He cast down the lamps, your lords gave birth to Valinor and the trees. He slew their light, and gave rise to the lights of the sky. Melkor has played a mighty role and your lord would cast him away.” _

Orcs fly past him as he continues on his road. Deformed creatures with cruel weapons bred by the very hand of Sauron himself. Abominations in the eyes of The One and another mark to weigh against him. 

And the screams. 

Oh, the screams. 

Victims of Sauron’s terrible acts of torture. Forgotten playthings for his servants and beasts. 

He hopes they will pass soon. Either into the Halls of peace or into the arms of someone more kind. 

Hopefully, he thinks, the former. He has seen the elves held by Sauron’s cruel hand. The flame licked skin. The blind eyes. The limbs twisted in such ways as should not be possible.  

He wonders how his friend learned such things. Wonders if the teaching was one of cruelty in itself. Morgoth, pinning his new servant to the ground; bending him to a deadly rage and a love of pain. 

Sauron had repented after all.

Once at least.

_ Mairon crawls forward, lowers himself before Eönwë’s feet and pleads. Pleads for mercy and acceptance and his eyes are so tortured that Eönwë thinks that he must be true. _

_ “I cannot pardon you,” he whispers. “You must return to Valinor, pay penitence to Manwë and confess your sins. He will have mercy, he will forgive you. You have been led astray, you have fallen into a web. But you have done great wrong also. The price must be paid, Mairon.” _

_ “Before the Valar,” Mairon whispers, and Eönwë wonders what he has heard. “Price.” _

_ “You may go amongst Aulë’s followers again afterwards.” _

_ “Aulë.” _

_ He had crept away then, disappeared into Middle Earth and they had heard no more of him. No more until - _

Eönwë feels the ripple in the air as the ring is dropped.

Fate, the men would call it. A greater force perhaps, seeking to help when the hero has fallen. 

He has felt such power before. Indeed, it had been because of Sauron then that such a force had acted. 

A deed so vile, a blasphemy so great that the land had been changed once more and now he thinks, the last shred of Sauron’s sanity ripped from his soul. 

_ He stretches his arms across the sky as the waves rise, lets them burst into wings as below him men cry out for the final time.  _

_ “The eagles!” they scream. “The eagles of Manwë!” _

_ A scream he has heard before, but always briefly. A cry of repentance before they enter the temple once more and commit the act that has bought doom upon them now. _

_ Somewhere far off, under the safety of his brothers, the faithful will have set sail. The men and women who did not heed Mairon’s lies. Did not listen to his stories of a more powerful god and who will not be joining him in death beneath the sea. _

_ He meets Mairon’s eyes. _

_ And does not seek to see any more. _

The scream is soul piercing. 

Not a mortal scream, no. A scream of the soul, one shattered beyond repair and Eönwë curses Morgoth in that second * as he gazes towards the tower and watches it crack. 

So it is done. 

The ring destroyed, and the day won. 

Eönwë watches as a shadow rises. Stretches forth its hand and fades with a whisper. 

A last reach for home? A call for help?

No.

_ “It is by my own will,” Mairon tells him.  _

_ “You are corrupted Mairon, led astray.” _

_ He grabs his brother’s  hand, searches his eyes for the truth. _

_ And cannot understand when he finds it. _

The tower crumbles and Eönwë wonders if he would have followed Manwë so. Down a path of darkness to the ruin of his own soul. Wonders if he would have the loyalty. Wonders if -

The wind from the West stirs his hair and he can almost hear his master’s words.

‘It is time to go.”

Eönwë takes a breath, allows himself one final minute and then beckons a final farewell.

“Goodbye Mairon.”

Goodbye, my brother.

**Author's Note:**

> * 'Gosh diddly darn it, Morgoth, you fiend!' Eonwe says through gritted teeth. He would utter worse, but Manwe forbade such language of his servants.
> 
> Alternate dialogue provided by AsgardianAngels.


End file.
